My mother lives on the edge of darkness. She converses more with the dead people she sees around her than she does with anyone else. She does have a few lucid moments, but they are fleeting, and often there's a look of panic in her eyes when she drifts back into the darkness. It's little wonder she expresses such anger with the dead people around her.
My step-dad provides her care, and he does so with little or no break aside from the time he takes her to the beautician. I do not know how he does it, and I don't know what we would do without him, though I'm pretty sure we would not do as well. He's getting a card.